Reprogramming
by Leftomaniac
Summary: How do you turn a villain into a hero? Patience. Lots of patience.


I should be hung, shot and burned at the stake in that order, considering how long I've promised this and not delivered. Own nothing.

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The room was underground. How far, he couldn't say, his only clues being vibrations from explosions far above him. Below the surface, one could pass days in total darkness. Sunrise and sunset would be yours to decide, unless you had an internal clock. Which the T-800 did. Lesser organisms would have had to rely on a single, swinging light bulb for their sun, and most of the time it was turned off. This was significant if you needed light to see, which the T-800 didn't.

He was not struggling, though every few minutes he tested his bonds, confirming each time that, yes, they were strong enough to hold him. Their rate of decay over time was not satisfactorily quick, and they would hold the T-800 until he was released from them. If he was. That would depend on many things, his captor's mood not being the least of them. The habits of human organisms were difficult and irrational, even the most sophisticated neural net had trouble tracking every possibility. At present the T-800 predicted a 68 possibility he would not be released today. And that assumed his 89 prediction that John Conner would come down to his cell that day was accurate.

Inhumanly sensitive audio sensors picked up the distinct shuffling of Connor's leather boots. It was some minutes later when the youth's maverickish face popped from behind the door. The T-800 recorded its prediction as accurate, and waited for the man to speak.

"Didja miss me there, buddy?"

"Though my programming has been altered significantly, I am not currently capable of nostalgia."

John's face rose into a crooked grin. "Was that a… joke?"

"Negative. Humor is-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, getting my hopes up again. All right, then, state your mission."

There was a slight flutter of his facial features, a minor adjustment as the subject was altered. It was too quick for human eyes, and John did not react. "To travel back to the year 1991 and secure the safety of John Conner"

"Parameters?"

"Obey John Conner's commands and work towards the interest of John Conner."

"Affirmative!" John said, pumping his fist in delight. "You're taking to this better than I expected."

Capturing the T-800 had been difficult and dangerous, but it was holding him that was hard. A few earlier attempts had ended very, very badly. But now, they were learning a lot about them. For one thing, they were not actually bloodthirsty, though on the battlefield they certainly seemed that way. Termination was a task, like any other task, to be accomplished. No more, no less. They were certainly good at it, but all that drove them to kill was the idea that it had to be done. If that idea could be altered…

"What do you think about… children?" he asked.

"Children are undeveloped human beings."

"Is that all?" He did not wait for a reply. "Hmm, well, that's probably all right. But how about this- what do you do if a child is crying?"

"Inspect its body for injuries. If there is bleeding, apply pressure until…"

"Stop, stop. What if there are no injuries?"

"Scan for internal-"

"No internal injuries. Nothing."

There was a pause. This time, the fluttering was visible, and accompanied by a slight shake of the head. John swore he could hear a whirring noise. "Silence the child so it does not give away my position."

John sighed. "That'll be all for now." He turned to leave. "You're not ready yet. Someday, maybe soon, but not now."

The light clicked off behind him. The T-800 was not concerned.

John Conner had come down there thirty-seven times in the past week. Sometimes to alter his programming, sometimes to question him in this manner. So far, he had left each time, unsatisfied, lost, for reasons unknown. There was some key question there, some concept in John's mind that the T-800 kept falling short of. It was a puzzle. And all puzzles can be solved, with reason and persistence.

One, day, the T-800 knew he would solve this one.


End file.
